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Colonial Crazy

I’ve been meaning to write this post since Wednesday night but…well, remember last time? Which I could link to if I had more than six minutes before we have to leave again? But we don’t so I can’t? Yeah. That. Anyway, it was just going to be a funny post because it was a funny story (well, at the time it was a little frightening, but mostly just hilarious.)

Then my sister posted a Facebook status about how she threw a hissy fit. Because “hissy fit” sounds funnier than “breakdown”. But now I can use this to clarify that she did not, in fact, throw a fit like a two-year-old. She had a breakdown. Like a 20-year-old history major.

We begin our story on Wednesday night. It’s like nine-thirty, and we’ve just gotten into Williamsburg. After ten and a half hours of driving. We’re tired, we’re cranky, I’m crampy and bloated and mad enough about it to tell the whole world on the internet- but none of it matters. Because we’re walking down Duke of Gloucester street and it’s the best place in the world.

See, my family views Williamsburg like Zionists view Israel. I’m pretty sure at some point there was milk and honey there, but if not, meh, we’re okay, because Chowning’s Tavern is pretty cool too.

Dude, we’re good with Jesus but that guy playing George Washington is pretty bitchin’ too.

My sister especially loves it. I don’t want to say more than any of the rest of us, but she’s definitely more ebullient about her passions. Especially when she’s been drinking. Like today at lunch. Which is a story for another post.

So when my sister planned this trip, she knew that she needed to give Williamsburg a lot of time. Four days was considered the absolute minimum. Unfortunately, that was really all we could give it, because she had a whole list of other places she wanted to go. But still. Four days. Three solid and then Sunday we were going to go to Mass and then bum around for a little bit before leaving. Which would suck, we knew; but still, four days. Surely. Surely that would be enough.

Everyone was happy, we bought the tickets, booked the hotel room, got excited.

Cut to Wednesday night, when we are literally five minutes into our stay in s. We haven’t even been to the hotel yet.

My sister? Frickin’ loses it.

“It’s not enough time. There’s just not enough time. THERE’S NO TIME!”

“What?”

“FOUR DAYS. HOW COULD I HAVE EVER THOUGHT FOUR DAYS WOULD BE ENOUGH?”

“Um…”

“CAN WE STAY LONGER?”

“Well…”

“WE CAN’T LEAVE THERE’S NOT ENOUGH TIME AND YOU THINK I’M KIDDING BUT I’M NOT KIDDING I’M NOT GOING HOME WITH YOU FOUR DAYS WHAT WAS I THINKING?”

Within about five minutes she had stopped using full sentences completely. She had these huge round eyes, she wasn’t blinking anymore, and she had a delirious look on her face. She just kept walking up and down the street saying, “There’s not enough time. No time. No time. Not enough time.”

Remember, she planned the trip. Such is the power of Williamsburg.

In case you’re worried that she’s still wandering Duke of Gloucester street like a crazy person (now featured on nighttime tours!), she’s not. We got back to the hotel, calmed her down, and eventually ended up cutting Appomattox and Manassas from the trip and we’re staying in Williamsburg for two more days. Which seems to be acceptable because she hasn’t gone crazy.

Yet.

And I don’t have to waste a day seeing a fake courthouse in the wrong place in Appomattox. We’re all happy.